


I look at you all, see the love there that's sleeping

by Ford_Ye_Fiji



Category: Kubo and the Two Strings (2016)
Genre: Angst, Couldn't decide, F/M, Gen, Hanzo and Sariatu are the cutest fight me, Memory Loss, Sadness, There is no fluff, beetle wants to remember, but there's also romance??, idk - Freeform, it's kinda gen, only pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 10:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12274452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ford_Ye_Fiji/pseuds/Ford_Ye_Fiji
Summary: Perhaps that... No... There, there were swords? Or- a flash of something dark... hair? A laugh? They... Wide brown eyes so full of life and love and-What had he been thinking about?He could not remember.





	I look at you all, see the love there that's sleeping

_"You have offended my father. Now you must die."_

Her beauty was not accurate according to the stories he'd been told. She'd been described as enchanting and beautiful beyond compare, even to that of the sunrise. More beautiful than a softly unfolding flower.

No, the stories were wrong.

She was more wonderful than any flower he'd seen. She was more radiant than the very stars she came from, but just as cold as the far away twinkles of light. Comparing her to the shuttered mortal view of beauty was pitiful and pathetic.

Of course, it might feel a bit arrogant to assume so even though he had not seen her face yet, but he could tell from her manner and disposition that the stories did not do her nearly enough justice. The flow of her robes, the tilt of her head, the flurry of silken hair, the bravery and confidence glaring down at him. 

Their swords collided and he fell away from her fury. He grinned excitedly, crooked smile wide with delight. Oh yes, the tales did not do her beauty nearly enough justice.

The daughter of the moon King did not chase after him, instead she stood still, long sliver gleaming sword balanced carefully in one hand, head tilted in a cool beckon. Her long midnight hair curled far down her back, and her pristine mask with her dead darkened eyes glinted in the starlight, those painted lips curved upward in a cruel facsimile of joy.

Smoke billowed past her dark cape, and he danced away from it, barreling into her clutches, weapon sharp and bright as the unbreakable golden sword collided with her silver point seemingly crafted from moonlight. The clash of their steel rang throughout the Temple of Bones.

Her sword twanged off his golden glittering armor, and smoke billowed around her legs as his blade nicked her mask and cut through some of her pitch dark hair. She was all cold rage and black wrath, whirling and slashing, but he met her move for move.

Then when their swords connected again, he darted forward and swiftly pulled the hard mask away, it's cool cursed material smooth as bone. It echoed when it the floor with a loud startling clatter. She had taken advantage of his distance and her slim strong hand closed around his throat. Her lips were twisted into a snarl, her eyes, however, were not yet cold and distant and blind like her father's, but a wild shining hazel and thrumming full of life.

She knew he had allowed her access to his life, pulse point beating rapidly as a frightened birds, just so he could remove her mask. She blinked bewilderedly, knowing he had thrown away his advantage merely to expose her face, "Why did you do that? Are you not afraid?"

He grinned roguishly in the face of death, "I wanted to see the face of the woman who challenges me."

She frowned, sensing a mischievous half lie hiding in his answer, "Why do you not run?" 

He allowed a soft smile, despite the rather dire position he was in and taking advantage of her momentary confusion, he spoke quietly, " _You_ are my quest."

Maybe those words were simply words in any other situation, but the closeness in which they stood, and the sheer warmth in his gaze, his humanity, the absolute calm and acceptance and forgiveness, man's imperfect beauty made her pause.

The daughter of the moon King knew, in that moment, that Hanzo the mighty samurai hero that angered her father so, was prepared to die. He was ready to sacrifice himself for... For what? A moment to talk to her? A moment to perhaps convince her to stop killing? Such sure bravado was disgusting, but no overinflated confidence shone in his eyes. His now lowered sword, his stubborn cheerfulness even though there was no way he could know that she could spare him touched something deep within her icy cold heart, and almost without her knowledge her sword dropped and she found her hand resting against his golden armor instead of his vulnerable throat.

She titled her head, brows furrowed and mouth opening to voice her thoughts.

 Her next words were muffled and the scene, whatever it had been, melted away turning into ribbons and shreds of ripped scarlet cloth. The man and the woman looking into each other's eyes, their swords falling away, faded into memory and thick black smoke shrieking and cackling ripped into them like slashes of claw marks and then whatever it had been was gone.

The large beetle sitting on the ground rubbed his head, frowning at the torn cloth he held in his hands. He was missing something? Something.... Something infinitely important, but he could not for the life of him remember. He had... He has been fighting? Something, perhaps, with swords. Maybe? Beetle pulled the rag to his chest possessively, brows furrowed with confusion. What had that been about?

There had been... Bones? He looked at the picked clean skeletons littering the snow covered landscape beside him. He felt waves of sadness and his claws twisted the cloth uneasily. No bones. A woman? Large full lips curved into a sweet gentle smile, so kind. So _so_ kind. A baby. That was it a small perfect baby- he needed! He needed to protect!

Protect what? What was he protecting again? Two figures blurred away into the shadow mist and fog clouding his mind. Something. He was doing something. He knew one thing for certain, the battered banner in his four hands had triggered something. A memory of the man he had once been. And... Oh what had it been?

One of his black shiny arms held his head, he desperately needed to remember. Remember anything about his life before, he felt as if he were chasing phantoms that hid under the snow of the Far Lands just as he managed to catch up to them. He was so very tired of looking, for a sign or a memory that did not melt into water like ice when he picked it up. He glared at the rusty swords and broken bows and slashed armor littering the ground by his feet. Samurai armor. Maybe he had been a samurai? That felt right. Exactly right. A samurai. Relief was heavy and thick, he knew something at least.

He faintly recalled a blur, a shape of some person walking... A red robe with a beetle, just like the scrap in his claws. A man... Who was the man? The name kept flying away like a teasing bird, dipping just close enough for him to see... His name was- was Hanz-

The snow glittered as the moon came out from behind the clouds. 

What had he been doing? A wisp of a song, a smile, a sword, a laugh, a child? No... There was nothing there, his head was as empty as before.

He looked up at the sky and the bright perfect moon shining overhead, and he shuddered. He did not like the moon.

The beetle scuttled up over the great rock and disappeared into a cave, the scarlet cloth like a ribbon of blood clutched to his chest, the woven insect on it fluttering forlornly.


End file.
